


Heroes always win

by SpoonDance



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: F/F, kinda angsty, probably coherent-ish, with some Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-27
Updated: 2016-06-27
Packaged: 2018-07-18 12:39:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7315567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpoonDance/pseuds/SpoonDance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Waverly is struggling to understand who she is and where she stands after the finale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heroes always win

__

_ Haven’t you read a romance novel lately? Heroes always win. _

* * *

**_Hero:_ ** _ a person who is admired or idealized for courage, outstanding achievements, or noble qualities. _

Waverly sat in the dark, picking at words her mind threw at her and letting the thorns dig in as she unwillfully grasped at them. 

**_Noble:_ ** _ belonging to a hereditary class with high social or political status; aristocratic… having or showing fine personal qualities or high moral principles and ideals. _

The wall at her back was cold, a far cry from the warmth she’d left, as she drug her nails across the carpet beneath her. Her eyes scanned over the faint outlines she could make out of Nicole’s living room. She had the layout memorized. She’d been there enough, navigated it plenty, felt safe there always. But the dark… it played tricks.

**_Hereditary:_ ** _ conferred by or based on inheritance; holding a position by inheritance; determined by genetic factors and therefore able to be passed on from parents to their offspring or descendants. _

A tightness was gripping her; her chest, her throat, her jaw, her hands. And part of her wanted to turn on the light, to flood her eyes and flush out the darkness. But a part of her couldn’t. A part of her wanted to get up and walk back to Nicole’s bed and Nicole’s arms and Nicole’s warmth and sweet whispers. But she couldn’t. She truly couldn’t move from where she sat and that made the grip this… this darkness had on her tighten. 

**_Moral:_ ** _ concerned with the principles of right and wrong behavior and the goodness or badness of human character; a person's standards of behavior or beliefs concerning what is and is not acceptable for them to do _ .

And it felt like the darkness was sinking in. Through the thorn-pricks at her mind’s fingertips, through the fist constricting her, through the knowledge she wish she hadn’t learned. Because what did she really know anymore? Everything she’d thought she knew was tilted sideways now and she wasn’t sure how to see anything anymore.

**_Achievement:_ ** _ a thing done successfully, typically by effort, courage, or skill. _

What did she have to show for her years of work and positivity?

**_Effort:_ ** _ a vigorous or determined attempt; strenuous physical or mental exertion. _

What did it matter? She’d fought and worked and tried and tried and  _ tried _ . And still she was… not nothing, but not the something she’d wanted to be. She wasn’t able to fight, wasn’t able to just rise above. 

She wasn’t good enough.

**_Good:_ ** _ to be desired or approved of; having the qualities required for a particular role; that which is morally right; righteousness; benefit or advantage to someone or something; well. _

She wasn’t  _ good _ . 

And she could feel the not-good thing inside her twist, felt the air pulled -pushed?- from her with a sickeningly easy force. It was too easily shaping to her form, too easily moving but what could she do? She wasn’t strong enough.

**_Strong:_ ** _ having the power to move heavy weights or perform other physically demanding tasks; able to withstand great force or pressure. _

Her head fell back against the wall with a soft thud, barely an impact but enough to bring her mind back around to where, the when. To  _ who  _ was just down the hall.

To who was always within reach, whenever she needed her. Even when she didn’t know she needed her. To the woman who stood by her, with her even when no one would tell her what exactly was going on around her. Offering comfort for those things she didn’t know. Offering comfort for the things she  _ did  _ know.

To Nicole. Nicole. Nicole.

Who saw her as Waverly. As Waves. As smart and independant and beautiful and… strong. Nicole saw her as having this strength, something she couldn’t put into words really, but she’d told Waverly many times. And Waverly believed her in every instance. Every single one. Because with Nicole, she couldn’t not believe her. Not with the firm lilt to her voice, the soft adoration in her eyes, the loyalty in the trace of her fingertips. 

So, she must have some strength. Some courage.

**_Courage_ ** _ : the ability to do something that frightens one; strength in the face of pain or grief. _

Taking a deep breath, she pushed herself up onto tired and shaky legs, using the wall at her back for support. Blackness swam before her eyes but she was clear-headed enough to breath through it. _ ‘You simply stood up too fast, Waverly. Get ahold of yourself.’ _

A moment, two, three; and she forced herself to move. She made her way down the small hallway, the darkness doing nothing to confuse her path. Something clicked in her head, something fell snuggly in place, taking hold and presenting her with another clear breath. She couldn’t get lost here. Making her way to the woman she loved. Not just in this small sanctuary of an apartment. No. Not just here, not just in this hallway. Stepping into the bedroom, eyes instantly on the silent frame curled around her previously abandoned pillow, she was found. And she’d never get lost on her way back to Nicole. No matter the path.

Footfalls more steady, Waverly was quickly slipping back into their bed. Theirs. This was a  _ them  _ and things were  _ theirs _ . Warmth flooded her, from her thoughts and from the body-warmed sheets.

She tried to simply lie down and watch the way Nicole’s face twitched in her sleep, despite no longer having a pillow, but Nicole seemed to notice the shift.

“Baby?” It was muffled and so endearingly sleepy that Waverly couldn’t suppress a smile even if she tried. 

“Go back to sleep, Nicole, I’m here.”

What she got was a grumble and an awkward show of her girlfriend pushing the pillow she was hugging away and holding her arms open for Waverly, eyes still closed. With that, with the outstretched arms before her, she felt the last of the grip on her from before leave her.

She pressed up close, face buried in Nicole’s neck and felt arms secure themselves around her. She never felt so free.

“Mmmm,” Nicole hummed. “Much better.”

There it was. The simple way Nicole could make her feel like  _ everything _ . Even mumbly and half asleep.

**_Brazen:_ ** _ bold and without shame. _

She didn’t know if Nicole had overheard her before, what with the gun being pointed at the redhead and Waverly out of breath in fear. With her whispering it to her sister because yes, it was true but she didn’t want those words given then. But they needed to be said. Blatantly, to Wynonna. 

But now. Now she wanted to give them.

“I love you.” 

It was quiet but she was happy with the way they came out; sure and honest. And she could now easily fall asleep with those words and Nicole’s arms about them.

“Love you.”

The breath on her forehead barely carried the sounds to her and she burrowed further into chest and neck and warm warm warm.

Maybe she wasn’t a hero. Maybe she wasn’t good enough, not for some things. But she was strong. She was brazen. And she could be good. 

No matter what it was that was inside of her, Waverly could fight it. Because Nicole was a steady glow and she’d never be fully lost again. Because she believed when Nicole believed in her. Because she was more than words. More than what others defined her as.

She was Waverly Earp.

**Author's Note:**

> Randomly inspired coming across that hero quote for the hundredth time and just went with it. Which seems to be what happens with me: *has several fic ideas/tries to start plotting things out* "I have zero brain power" *lounging and has random, vague thought* "i must get up and write it now"
> 
> I'm so damn tired and for some reason NOW is when I decide to write. So I apologize for any mistakes but Editor is not my middle name.


End file.
